


Disaster unparalleled

by Susamo



Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [2]
Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:48:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24345268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: Atlan, the young Gos athor da Arkon, is on his way on his first mission without his parents, to give medals to the survivors of Solmanay battle, and to strengthen the overall morale of the population of the Tai Ark'Tussan in this devastating war against the Maahks. It is to be a short journey only and will be accomplished easily. But someone has different plans for the young Crystal Prince...
Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753825
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Disaster unparalleled

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the second part of young Atlan da Gonozal's adventure, in which he experiences a great change in his life.
> 
> Note: Arkonides have red eyes and white hair, and look like humans else. Only one or two organs, and especially their skeleton shows further differences as an Arkonide has bone plates instead of a human ribcage. 
> 
> This is the era of about ten thousand years ago, when the Tai Ark'Tussan, the Great Empire of Arkon, fights for its very existence against the attacking Methans, whose first and foremost people are the famous-or rather, infamous-Maahks. Contrary to his biography in the Perry Rhodan series, Atlan here is not the son of a murdered Tai Moas (Imperator), but the son of his youngest brother and therefore the Imperator's nephew. Yet he is the heir to the throne, the Gos athor-the Crystal Prince of Arkon.
> 
> A logic sector is a specially activated part of an Arkonide's brain. It is also called the extra sense and will advise its mental partner telepathically of logical facts it perceives, giving the man or woman so gifted a clear advantage over his or her contemporaries. A logic sector must be earned, though, by intense studies and a very hard examination one must pass, called the ARK SUMMIA. The person who achieves that will get his or her logic sector activated. That entails also the activation of a photographic memory, which goes hand-in-glove with the logic sector.

Disaster unparalleled

Onboard the TONDON all was well, the captain reported, making a point of first informing his most prominent passenger, the young Gos athor da Arkon. Gravely the boy, not yet twelve, acknowledged and thanked the captain no less politely and calmly than his father, the owner of the small ship, would have done. 

The TONDON did not have more than seventy men and women as crew. Crest tec’Gonozal’s yacht did not need more to be flown perfectly and professionally.

Nevertheless Kelta Sel’kamér took the pains of checking all functions independently and listened closely to the status reports of the various team leaders. Business was brisk as usual, but without obvious strain. This crew was too seasoned and well-trained to have trouble handling anything that could come up, a few changes of personnel recently notwithstanding. Crest had accepted the offer of the Ka-Addagtis Frantomor kel Falthaym to take three more men into his crew, men who had served long in the war and had survived Maahkath captivity as heroes, escaping their stinking claws with their commander Frantomor and a few comrades. The minister of the Interior had suffered that captivity for several Berlons and had come back a shining hero, and one who knew the hardships of this war in truth, and so did these men.

They would jump together with their guard of heavy cruisers five more times, easy jumps to keep too much strain from the passengers. The Gos athor da Arkon had traveled in this ship often enough before, but this time, without his father or mother, was a special one, and everyone had an eye out for his youthful Eminence.

Atlan followed the Grand Master’s instructions carefully. The protocol had a few fine points that could come into play, depending upon whom he would meet, and in which context. Addresses changed subtly, and so did greetings and acknowledgments. To his chagrin the young Crystal Prince realized that he did not know everything yet, and might still make a mistake-a tiny one, perhaps, but one a zhdopan-sa of the Tai Ark’ Tussan simply should not make.

So he listened to his instructor with determination, intently and with concentration following his explanations.  
The faint smile of Denios da Pert he noticed, but he cared little for this now. On this first mission on his own, he had to do perfectly; he knew it-and some gratification the Tai Kha’ Laktrote was due after that half-tonta in the lift caught helplessly in the fields carrying him up and down without him being able to get out.

When the young prince had repeated the lesson flawlessly, the Grand Master inclined his head in satisfaction.  
“Well, done, mekhon Rayth’kor”, he said, and got a swift and relieved smile from the Crystal Prince. Yes, his youthful Eminence knew he still had a lot to learn-good for him. If he kept that up, he would become quite an expert, and within not too long a time. 

The klaxon rang prior to jump. The people in the luxurious cabin, Atlan, the Grand Master, Lesena, and a servant, scarcely looked up. Another five transitions to go. Captain Taneth took it easy with his precious passengers, and one did not even have to belt down in a seat.

Kelta, the Crystal Prince’s personal bodyguard, noticed as the first one that something was amiss, rubbing his neck after the jump as he sat up straighter in his chair in the guard station in front of the Crystal Prince’s cabin.  
The jump-strain had been heavier than expected as if the jump had gone farther than the first one-much farther.  
And the reports-and queries-coming from engineering and other departments were not acknowledged by the bridge crew.

He sent his sharp query to the captain but didn’t get a better answer-Taneth did not react at all!  
With a short swear-word Kelta jumped up, knowing that something must have gone exceptionally wrong, when he heard the heavy sounds of suit-boots out in the corridor. The ten men and women of the Silvers who had come with to form Atlan’s honour-guard surely had not suited up yet!  
Kelta Sel'kamér had his Luccot out of the holster and fired the moment the door hissed open, but the effect was practically nil-the heavily suited men wore screens.  
Then they were onto him.

Listening Atlan raised his head and frowned. Outside the door, odd sounds had become audible-no matter the isolation which should have been sound-proof, had that not sounded like a shot? And had not the jump been more stressful than expected? Lesena still had a grimace upon her face, and Denios da Pert was rubbing his neck and temples, frowning. The Crystal Prince had a slight headache himself. Had anything gone wrong?  
Suddenly the light went out and became the reddish low-toned hue of emergency. They all sprang up in alarm-

The door hissed, admitted suited figures, heavily armed. Atlan, who had jumped towards them, thinking them Silvers coming to the rescue, jerked back in shock as one of them gripped Denios da Pert and ripped him aside with gear-heightened strength.  
The table went flying as if it had not been bolted down, sheets of flimsiplast and notepens flying every which where. Screams and yells filled the air as Atlan fell back to the wall, horrified and seeking an escape he could not see.

The men advanced. “Mekhon Rayth’kor-!” the attendant cried, throwing himself between the attackers and the Crystal Prince, then cried out again as a vibro-knife sliced him open, belly first, then throat.

With a scream of horror, Atlan tried to turn and run but was grabbed brutally by the arms and yanked back out of the way.

“Hold still, or I’ll break your arms!” the suited attacker’s voice growled, blurred by the speakers.

Denios da Pert, his face a mask of fury and shock, had ripped free and frantically tried to kick the man who had grabbed him, but that was, of course, perfectly futile against knee-caps of Arkonath steel. But Denios had no weapon-

The suited man simply seized him by the throat and lifted him quickly, gears in action, and strangled the helplessly struggling Grand Master, whose face darkened swiftly. Desperately and suddenly without power, his arms and fists struck the metal of the suit, and then something snapped, and Denios’ head fell back at an odd angle.  
Atlan fought wildly, trying to slip his captor’s grip. But the man knew his trade too well. The grip he applied made the young prince scream with pain, immobilized him for a few moments.  
Frantically he looked for help, but instead he saw an even more terrible sight.

They had taken hold of Lesena and cornered her against the other wall. She, too, had tried to fight back but was as weapon-less as Denios had been. She was pushed against the wall with force, where she staggered, trying to regain her balance. Her beautiful dress, coloured light green in the hue of hope and bringing out her swelling belly, was ripped and torn.  
One of the attackers took a small sonic grenade out of his pocket and pushed the button. The thing began to blink in readiness to be fired.

“Lesena!” Atlan was screaming, throwing himself forward, but was held by his arms and painfully yanked back by his captor.

“Nooo!” Lesena shrieked, then a deafening crash sounded, the grenade ripping her apart, smashing the hand she held protectively over her belly a hundred times.  
Blood spattered the wall, the murderers, the light-red jacket of the Crystal Prince with darker stains.

“No!” Atlan cried out, echoing Lesena, his nurse, and companion since his life had begun, his second mother as they had lovingly joked. He was frozen with horror, eyes wide open and staring, face gone chalky white.

Of the four occupying the room before only he was left alive, the others had been murdered horribly. How had these men gotten in, what had happened? Where were the guardsmen, the guarding cruisers?

The peaceful studying scene had changed too suddenly into a nightmare picture of terror and death.   
Atlan wanted to scream for help and knew with sickening certainty that no help would come. They had all to be pinned down to allow attackers to come so far as to go at him.

“Bring him over!” a voice called. The man who held the young prince dragged him over to the door, swearing awfully and letting go with one gloved hand to wipe his visor. Lesena’s blood had spattered so far as to obstruct his vision.

The door was scorched, the anteroom filled with smoke. Atlan began to cough and staggered. Where was all the smoke coming from? The corridor beyond was filled with it too-  
With a sudden whimper of shock, he almost fell over a figure lying there. Kelta. He lay in a pool of blood, his body cut up many times, throat cut, long deep wounds covering arms and breast and stomach where more blood oozed out still, his eyes staring upward unseeing, mouth open in a silent cry, his bloody hand still limply holding the blood-smeared Luccot.

With another swear-word, the man holding the boy slipped in the blood and staggered, his grip loosening.

The angry voice suddenly woke the Crystal Prince from his shock somewhat. He ripped free of the gloved hand and dived for Kelta’s Luccot, grabbing it and throwing himself down, rolled over his dead bodyguard’s body and sprang up again, threw himself forward into the smoke-filled corridor, evading the grabbing hands by a hair’s breadth.  
He fell and rolled up again, and ran, ducking and weaving between the men who had turned and tried to catch him once more-but they were too slow for the boy who was driven by horrified frenzy and knew this ship to the nines. 

Atlan threw himself into a side-corridor and hit the emergency tab to have it sealed. The steel door banged shut just in front of a suited figure who yelled something-no matter. Smashing sounds told the Crystal Prince that they had begun to shoot at the door-already it was beginning to glow red in the centre. The temperature in the corridor rose abruptly.  
Whimpering softly the boy turned and ran down the passage. He had to get out of here, and he had to hide somewhere, had to find a way to call for help-what had happened to the crew, where were the Silvers, what about the guarding vessels? The jump had been too far-had the Tondon mis-jumped, or rather, jumped according to the attackers’ plans? Gods, Gods, help me, Kelta-Gods, Kelta could no longer help him-

Biting back a sob Atlan wildly looked for a place to conceal himself. Those men had suits and had scanner lenses; they would find him wherever he ran! That they were after him and would not go before they had him was clear. They were not just after Atlan tec’Gonozal-they were after the Crystal Prince of Arkon.

Suddenly clear thinking seemed to return to the young prince’s mind as he realized that. He was not just any scared kid, he was the Gos athor da Arkon and had to fight back, had to do whatever he could to get out, escape, cross the attackers’ plans, whoever they were. They had not just killed, they had murdered Lesena and Kelta and Denios da Pert in horrible ways, the sight of the corpses slated for the greatest shock and emotional hurt to be dealt the Imperial family. He was to be abducted, as much was clear also. Perhaps he had one chance left-the Silvers on board were highly trained soldiers and bodyguards. Chance was high that they had fought back, holed down in their quarters or, better, in the chutes down to the hangar. There were lifeboats the TONDON carried. Even if the Silvers were no help, pinned down, he knew the codes and could run-

Behind a loud bang told of the door giving way, being wrenched open. But now Atlan had a goal and knew where to run. Emergency chutes to the hangar were in every corridor. He tucked the blood-smeared Luccot into his waistband and ran to the next one.  
With flying fingers the young prince ripped up the handle and turned it, smashed it back in. The chute opened, too slowly for the boy’s gibbering nerves. But this was a chute working with air pressure and the lid slid back in its own sweet time.  
Jumping in he swung the lid closed behind him, praying to the Gods the men would not hear the bang with their clanking steps and the crashes of the door. The chute sucked him down, hurried him through the ship. Even in here the smell of burned flesh permeated with the ventilation working. Crew members must have been shot.

Atlan retched with the stink. He had seen vids about wrecked ships, had seen vids about what happened in the Maahkath war, and had been told in awful enough detail about what was going on. The news had shown it all with shocking and brutal truth and reality to bring it home to every being in the Tai Ark’Tussan that they were fighting for their very existence and had to stay and hold on together.

But no-one had ever told the young prince how burned flesh smelled, or how already cooled blood could stick to one’s fingers. He had as yet only seen the corpses of exotic animals his mother had taught him about. He had not seen people die or being murdered. He had not known any of this.

And the dead were not strange people-they were his best and much-loved companions, Lesena and Kelta, like a second mother, like an elder brother-

Gods, Gods, Gods! Atlan bit back another sob and forced himself to think straight. Golamo training had included thinking past severe distraction-of course never a distraction as severe as this-

With a thud, he landed near the hatch opening to the antechamber of the hangar. Carefully and pressing his sleeve against his mouth to stifle any coughing, he opened the cover and peeped out. There was no-one, only the emergency light turned an empty room reddish.

Beyond lay the corridor the soldiers of the Crystal Guard had their quarters in. It lay in complete dark, even emergency light shut down. Surely on purpose, they must have shut all energy down to keep the intruders from seeing and perceiving them.

Wild hope rose within the Crystal Prince’s heart. The guardsmen were holed up in there, waiting for the enemies to come and run into a trap. He would have to alert them to his coming, so they did not shoot him-but they would use only shockers, of course, to keep any stragglers from the crew from harm.

Hastily Atlan clambered out of the chute and ducked, ran over to the dark gaping door and softly called for his men. “Alos! Tunutér! Mertal!”

No-one answered. Something behind him hissed-the door to the hangar unsealed, hard footsteps of a suited man becoming audible. The intruders had waited for him there!

“Alos!” Atlan yelled at the top of his voice and flung himself into the room. 

Silence. Only the footsteps behind came nearer.

The young prince ran forward another three steps, then tripped over something, hitting his arm hard when he fell-fell into something wet and sticky-

With a horrified scream Atlan was up again, whimpering with terror. By the smell, there was blood all over. If it was Alos', or Tunutér's-

He dived for the emergency light, spun around. 

There they lay-Alos, Tunutér, Mertal, and their seven comrades. All the Silvers who had been on board, still in their uniforms, no-one suited up-having come nearer to them Atlan had felt an oddly rancid smell. Their faces were bluish, their mouths wide open-gas? Poison gas? But additionally, they had been cut up like Kelta with mad savagery. Everywhere there was blood, seeping into clothes, coagulating in puddles.

Oddly enough this terrible sight brought the whimpering boy back to his senses. There was no help to be had here, and the way to the hangar was closed to him as well. The pursuers were coming down the corridor. He had to think of Arkon now; the attackers were after him, Gods knew what they would do to the Imperium with him as a hostage-  
The training and teaching he had gotten as the Gos athor da Arkon took firm hold at long last.

Think. Don’t panic. Look at everything-you will find something you can use. Sek’athor Kehene had repeated his dictums a thousand times to him.

Shooting the Luccot at heavily suited men with screens up was useless. He had to run on and hide again, somehow get to the Bridge and call for help via hyper-radio, then hide again-

There! The maintenance tunnels!

Originally built to be serviced by robots they were too narrow to admit men in bulky suits. But a wily twelve-year-old could wriggle in and clamber up. There were ladders in there for a real emergency. If they wanted to follow him, they would have to take off their suits, and then they would be vulnerable again to his shots. Small shield generators one carried in one’s belt were no match for continuous fire out of a heavy Luccot.

This room was a trap. He had to get out. Now!

He was almost too late-and still he was in luck. The man coming after him was alone, and he wore no screen. Was he that confident that the Crystal Prince would be caught by him unresisting? With the man coming so near and facing him squarely Atlan saw his enemy grin triumphantly even behind the face-plate of his helmet.

He threw himself down and rolled, escaping the shocker shot the man fired at him, came up again, the Luccot already in his hand and turned to merely shock, and fired.  
Without a shout, the man crumpled and fell with a booming thud, totally surprised by the boy’s unexpected resistance.

Swiftly Atlan wiped his hands upon his once-white, but now very stained trousers, and with flying fingers, he opened the catches and lifted the man’s helmet, unzipped the suit, and pushed it back. Underneath the man wore the regular uniform of an orbton of the fleet, grey with several badges and emblems-Gods, the man was a meritorious hero of the war, a tharg-athor of many years’ standing. How could such a man be a rebel and terrorist? And how-how had these men been able to enter the TONDON at all, how had they been able to make the ship mis-jump? That this must have been what had happened was clear by now to the young prince. The guarding cruisers would have had the yacht within grapple fields else by now and would have had boarding parties and squads of fighting robots forcing the lock gates.

As swiftly as he could, he ran his fingers down the man’s breast and hips, checking the man’s pockets for anything he could use. As yet no-one else was coming up, though sounds came up from the direction of the hangar-more intruders must be there. 

A pocket at the hip yielded something better than a notepad and pen, or a spare energy cell. This was a data crystal, by the type one of the heavily encoded ones used to transfer and save critical and secret data. A clutch of the Yilld’s eggs caught, perhaps-and for sure such a clutch of eggs the next pocket at the other side held: a pulse key, only a finger long and of unobtrusive grey, but by its in-built contacts, it must be a master key.

Hastily the young Arkonide pocketed both objects and reshot the man to make sure he would not wake too soon and notice the theft, closed the suit, and reattached the helmet. He had no idea yet what he could do with his prizes, but he would see. If he could gain the bridge and see what was going on there, he might feed the crystal’s data into the positronicon there and find out more.

The call-button upon the left wrist of the shocked man began to blink. He would be followed soon. He had to get out of here!

Atlan jumped up and ran over to the maintenance hatch. With deep disquiet, he saw that he had left marks-bloody stains and footprints of his shoes would inevitably show where he had gone. His shoes he could not wipe as he had cleaned his fingers—no help to be had there. The escape route was moreover a logical one. They would be able to guess.

He gave his fallen guardsmen a last long look and took the time to salute them, fist upon the left breast, gulping down tears, his head held up in desperate pride. They had deserved honour and gratitude, and for lament-there was no time, Gods, no time. Once he was home, he would have to speak a Rudhinda for his people indeed-they were a deep loss to him personally, men and two women he had known for years, who had protected him all his life. Gods, Lesena, Kelta-

A few sobs escaped him, then he forced himself to turn to the hatch, shaking all over. He needed help, desperately he needed help, and Arkon did so with him. They, whoever they were, must not get the Gos athor da Arkon into their hands!

Already footsteps and calls over helmet speakers became audible. The men out there called for their commander-so this man on the floor must be high in their ranks in truth, and the crystal he had taken from him must hold useful data. One good thing among so many terrible ones-  
No, he must not think about that now. He had to get on!

Atlan clambered up into the maintenance tunnel and activated the light in there, knelt upon the tiny platform to reseal the hatch and climbed up the ladder as swiftly as he could. They could not follow him without un-suiting, but they might try to.

Within a very short time, it seemed, the hatch reopened down there. The young prince could no longer see it due to the bend in the tunnel he had just passed.  
A shot hissed, another one. They were trying to hit him with shocker bolts-another proof that they were not out to kill him but hoped to play the hostage game. Gods, who were these people? 

Having only to climb and seeing nothing but shining metal passing him, the boy could not help thinking about what had happened, his thoughts racing frantically. To make the ship mis-jump meant that one had to disable the bridge crew-by poison gas from a grenade one could do that, having taken an antidote before. But to change the jump parameters so shortly before transition took having codes, powerful codes that could over-ride the captain’s orders.

Verc’athor Taneth had by necessity a very high clearance and in fact was a Thantan, a commander within the Imperial Guards. To get in-lock to the positronicon of the Tai Mascant Crest tec’Gonozal’s personal yacht one had to have the highest clearance indeed-amounting to something just short of High Command Override. Who, in the names of all the gods, had access to something so well-shielded and coded? Only personnel highest in the Services and within the Fleet, or the councilors of the Berlen Than themselves-could it be that somewhere that high up a traitor sat, a hidden rebel?

It was inconceivable. Only two periods ago the young Crystal Prince had attended a session of the Tai Than where Internal Politics and its status was discussed, and where the results and conclusions had been very satisfying.

Due to the murderous war against the Maahks-already beginning to be called the Tai Akh’ Gor, the Great Terrible War-internal unrest had decreased considerably. Even great criminal organizations like the Sentenza were lying low-not even they could afford to make trouble for the Empire that was their sole recourse also in the face of certain destruction and annihilation. The Methans counted every Arkonide an enemy who had to be destroyed and killed, no matter his political opinions or his possible readiness to deal with them rather than fight them.

Who, how? Atlan found no answer to his questions as he frantically climbed up ladders and ran, ducked low, along tunnels, or even had to go on upon knees and hands. The bridge could not be far away now, please Gods-

More than once he had passed short tunnels leading off toward hatches and had heard voices calling to each other. It seemed that some of the attackers had unsuited-this boded ill and showed that they no longer expected resistance and attack. Possibly he was the only one left of crew and passengers who was at relative liberty and able to act.

But there must be crew members only unconscious who might wake and make trouble for them. They could not have killed everyone on board, they could not! In desperation, the young Crystal Prince squeezed shut his eyes and sent a short prayer to Asahina, the goddess of Fate. The crewmembers could not all be dead!

At long last the wide bend that meant he was clambering up at the side of the central section evened out. There was a hatch he could open and see whether there was anyone upon the bridge. If they were few he might shoot them with Kelta’s Luccot, shock them and clamber out in time, seal the bridge and send a call. Then he might take over the emergency system and gas the intruders in turn. Those who had un-suited would fall unconscious swiftly. As well there were the robot commandoes he could call up-he had all the High Command codes in his head, given to him by hypno schooling and taught him for security reasons, and those of the Services, namely of the Golamo, which he had read in the system and memorized secretly and quite-illegally, one had to admit that. Kelta had given him access-Kelta, Gods-

Calm. Calm and collected. Concentrate upon the essential, Sek-athor Kehene always said.

The hatch opened soundlessly. Atlan crouched behind on his knees, Luccot ready to shoot, and carefully peeped out. He did not dare open the hatch too wide, and so did not see much at first, and had to duck lower.

Then he saw them-men and women of the bridge’s crew, lying on the floor, unconscious all of them. The man nearest to the hatch, though, was breathing slowly. Another man came into view-an intruder and another two more, all of them suited up, ten men at least in the whole of the TONDON's headquarters, whose faces were barely visible behind the helmet plates. Calm faces, without hate or agitation, and as calmly and methodically they went from one fallen person to the other, bowing over them. Were they searching the bridge crew?

No. There was a hissing noise, and the crewman in front of the hatch gave a gasping breath and suddenly stopped to make any sound. When the stranger moved on the horrified boy saw a small black hole on his brow-the hit of a small needler gun that had burned the man’s brain out.

Gods, She huan, Deities of the stars! They were murdering the TONDON's crew-one by one, methodically, without any visible emotion. Taneth lay in a pool of blood-they must have cut him up like the men of the Crystal Guard, called the Silvers, and like Kelta!  
Oh, Gods-

Suddenly Atlan was violently sick and could just bend around into the small tunnel so nobody might hear that he was vomiting his heart out. Gods, those empty faces, devoid of all feeling. Were those men all hypnotized? The commander who had gone at him and whose key he had now had not looked like that.

Gods, meth, math, Father, Mother, get me out of here, this cannot be true, please Gods, help help help-

A call sounded. Someone must have heard nevertheless and pointed at the hatch.

Hastily Atlan threw it shut and crawled away, sobbing with horror and desperation, frantically looking for a path to escape. He had no way out left, and was helpless, could not do anything, they had covered all retreats and possibilities! What was he to do? What was he to do?

Shots smashed against the cover of steel. Wincing Atlan tried to crawl down deeper into the maintenance tunnel but found the next section sealed all of a sudden. Another bang sounded farther away-they had main control and knew how to operate it.

“No! Gods! Help me! Lesena, Kelta, help me!” Atlan whispered, tears running down his cheeks at long last, the desperate self-control he had managed to impose upon himself giving now. Sobbing, he curled up almost into a ball, knees up and brow pressed down upon them, arms around them covering his ears as well. He did not want to see or hear anything anymore, all of this could not be true, Lesena and Kelta could not be dead and gone, gone forever, this could not be true, it could not-

He heard well enough that the maintenance hatch down below was ripped open, and men were clambering in, slowly because they were almost too large. He could have shot at them now and might shock those intruders about to abduct him. But what for?

He could not escape farther without access to the rest of the tunnels. Realizing that he had no way left to run took away both resolve and the rest of his strength. They would get him, anyway-but Gods, please-

Hands grabbed at him. Atlan curled up tighter, as tightly as he could, and squeezed his eyes shut in desperation and utter horror. He whimpered as he was dragged down from his position. 

The man did not even tell him to come or something like that. He simply took a good grip upon his captive’s arm and legs and pulled him down out of the tunnel, pushing the boy into the arms of a suited man who without ceremony slung him over his shoulder and effortlessly carried him down the corridor buoyed by the gears of the fighting suit, holding his arms in a grip like a vise.

Atlan was too exhausted to try to fight, and he knew too well that it was useless anyway. It was over, he had been caught, and the TONDON-was left as a grave to her crew and her passengers but for him.

They passed a transmitter box that was being dismantled. So this was how these men had gotten in! Still they must have had helpers on board-one to set up the transmitter before that jump, one to gas the bridge and put in the new data-two of them at the bridge, at least. How was it possible that those men had not been found out before?

There was one hope left, the young prince thought dully, trying to hold on to that. If they did not search him, he would keep the key and the crystal, and perhaps could make use of them in the captor’s ship. Perhaps he would find a way to flee…

The positronicon of the TONDON responded to the murderers’ orders as if they were crew. An erasing sequence was started, Atlan heard, and dryly he sobbed again. They had full control and knew what to do. No traces of the murderers would be left…

“Hurry. The TONDON's distress signal will go out in half a tonta!” a man up front called. The young Crystal Prince shivered, his eyes wide open and staring at the corridors they passed, unseeing, only subconsciously registering spatters of blood, scorched doors, and stains upon the floor. 

He could well imagine what would happen now, and what was intended by the murderers. The TONDON would be sought desperately, and the signal would mark her location. And this carnage was what the rescuers would find. All the people in here had been murdered in the most terrible manners, a statement of unutterable cruelty, and he would be gone, a hostage game of threat and extortion started against the Imperator, the Imperial Family and the whole Tai Ark’Tussan with him in the murderers' hands. They could do to him whatever they wanted as long as they did not outright kill him and perhaps win some of their goals-whatever they were after. And the Maahks-Gods, the Maahks! 

Atlan's breath caught with renewed and even intensified dread, imagining that danger on top of all this horror.  
If all of that went out on vid the methane breathers would inevitably hear too and might try to find these terrorists on their own, hoping to get him, the ultimate prize, into their stinking claws. 

Gods, this was a catastrophe unparalleled, a danger to the Tai Ark’Tussan that had not had any precedence. He had to flee, the young prince knew. Gods, he had to do whatever he could to flee-but he was so tired…

Atlan shivered all over, and could not stop shivering. His teeth chattered still as he was carried to the hangar and through the hatch. All security systems were dead, keeping the murderers unknown-no, not all. The TONDON, as the Tai Mascant’s yacht, had extraordinary measures of security and sported an automatic recording of brain-wave-patterns of beings passing that door. And that system worked autarkically. The tiny lamp glowed violet as the recorder took in data-no-one of the intruders seemed to have noticed it working. Uncle Cunor and Father and Mother would know that he had left the TONDON alive-but they would also see the carnage the terrorists had left behind, and it would almost break their hearts. Oh, Gods, please, let the criminals forget to search me, let me find a way to flee-

Unceremoniously he was tucked into a seat and belted in. Soon the small boat powered up and left the ship full of corpses.

The cabin the young Crystal Prince was shoved into was neither too small nor too luxurious. It held a cot in the corner and a table with a chair, stark utility in the design, and no superfluous gadgets. There was a hygiene cabin to the left and a small but empty locker to the right, and that was it.  
Atlan staggered in and just had strength enough left to get to the bunk, which he fell onto and tucked himself almost into a ball again, lying on his side, squeezed into the wall as far as he could, shivering still. He felt terribly cold. 

At least he had not been searched, Gods, they had not searched him.  
The vibration of huge machines working came through. The murderers’ ship was leaving, taking up speed. Already the klaxon prior to jump sounded. The ships of the Arkonath fleet would come to the TONDON far too late and would find but empty space around her…

Sobbing softly, tears running down his cheeks unhindered, the boy cried himself into an exhausted sleep.

Tai Mascant Crest tec’Gonozal stared at the screen with burning eyes. The outer calm and absolute self-control of their commander could not deceive anyone among the men and women serving at High Command Central of the Arkonath Fleet deep beneath the surface of Gor Ranton, the world of war. Crest was desperate; the Tondon did not respond, had seemingly vanished into the void. Up to now, not even a distorted signal had been received, or a warped hyper-jump marker been detected.  
The Tai Mascant stood before primary control, hands propped against the control board, and listened to the ceaseless murmur of reports coming in. Only the desperate glitter in his eyes and his mouth, compressed to a line, showed how he must feel inside. His son, the Gos athor da Arkon, was missing on his first flight without his parents, and the Tai Mascant’s personal yacht with him-and so were the other passengers like the Tai Kha’Laktrote Denios da Pert.

Behind him, stiffly erect as if frozen, stood Yagthara tec’Gonozal his wife and the mother of the young prince.  
She had come over immediately from the Gos Khasurn when her husband had called her, to be a support to him and to be supported by him in turn.

“Ia te, Begam Tekanth-athor!” the radio operator at the next station interrupted the ceaseless murmur.   
Here at Fleet High the Imperator always was addressed as the High Commander of the Fleet, and not by his civilian title of the Tai Moas da Tai Ark’Tussan.   
Crest threw a swift look over to the operator. Cunor was querying every quarter of a tonta, no matter that he knew that he would be informed anyway as soon as any data upon the Tondon would come in.

“Nothing, Begam Tekanth-athor, not yet”, the radio operator responded, trying to keep her own worry out of her voice and not entirely succeeding. Every Arkonide was affected and concerned by this catastrophe, the loss of the Crystal Prince of the Realm.

Crest looked back at his own screen. Reports came in ceaselessly, from everywhere. Nothing, nothing, and nothing again.

Humming, the security door opened and admitted a person who walked up with swift and purposeful strides. Recognizing the step, Crest turned to Mekron kel’Dermitron, head of the Golamo, and nodded at him. The slightly portly man was a bit out of breath; despite transporter bands down the long corridors, he must have run from the transmitter station.  
Their gazes met.

“Crest,” Mekron only said. “Yagthara.” She nodded back at him as he took the place beside her husband.

“Any trail yet?” the Golamo chief asked. 

Negating, Crest threw back his head a little and moved his hand upward. “No. Almost two tontas and we still have no data.”

Mekron compressed his lips and stared at the screen as Crest did.  
Between the two of them not many words were necessary. Different from Frantomor, who had been a colleague to Crest at his Faehrl studies, Mekron kel’Dermitron had met the youngest brother of His Eminence only at a meeting here at Fleet High. Then he had become the head of the Golamo, and they had worked together often, had met at conferences, and had found that they could trust each other. Mutual respect and regard for each other’s work and opinion had let a close friendship grow, in service to the Tai Ark’ Tussan and the Tai Moas Cunor da Gonozal the Seventh.

Suddenly the vid com chimed shrilly.

“-Found her!” a voice called excitedly from the speaker. “ We have found the TONDON! The receivers have caught her automatic distress signal!”

At Communication all hell broke loose. Quickly, Crest leaned forward and took the call over to his terminal.

“Where?”

“Persypty-Sector, mekhon!”

“Which message?”

“Only the automatic distress call, mekhon, the simple signal. We have started to call the transmitting machine, but the signal does not change, we get no further data!”

“Which ships are nearest?”

“Two guarding ships keep position near the sector’s border; we already have sent them in, they’re on their way!”

Mekron turned his head and looked calmly, controlled, into Crest’s burning eyes.

“Have the sector blocked, Crest”, he said quietly. “Let me fly with a ship of the Golamo.”

Crest took a deep breath and was about to retort that that would cost time, but Mekron interrupted him before he could speak. 

“Yes, I know. But something is dearly wrong on top of an apparent accident. The TONDON has special security systems built-in! The positronicon would have to answer! If it can send a distress call it should be able to communicate further.”

Slowly Crest turned his wrist. Yes. He knew that, knew his ship and the security systems to the nines. But right now he wanted to disavow what he already realized to be true, Gods, he did not want to listen to the sending of his logic sector, he did not want to believe that-

Crest closed his eyes and leaned forward moaning, leaned heavily against the control board.  
Then he pulled himself together, and looked up, faced Mekron squarely.

“Well, fly then. Check everything closely. If you are right we are dealing with an assassination attempt, perhaps terrorists trying to play the hostage game. Might the Gods help us that they have had no success!”

“Ia te, mekhon.” For a moment, the same desperation glittered in Mekron kel’Dermitron’s eyes as it did in Crest’s, then he greeted the Tai Mascant with a beat of his fist against his left breast, bowed to Yagthara and left.

Sightlessly, Crest stared at the screen. Upon his shoulder, he felt Yagthara’s fingers. Slowly he turned around and took her hand, held on to it. They looked into each other’s eyes.

“Everything will be well, Yaghay,” Crest softly said.“You will see, we will have our boy with us soon again, well and chipper.”

“Yes, Sihay,” she whispered back. “It will all be well, the gods helping.”

He squeezed her hand and managed to smile, then let go and turned back to the terminal. “I must inform Cunor,” he murmured.

She looked at her husband and knew that he but tried to calm her and that he knew that she realized that.

The lady Yagthara was one of the best psychologists and psych operators the Faehrl Institute of Xeno-psychology had to offer. Her husband’s words did not fool her, but nevertheless, she was thankful to him for trying to give her hope. His family meant so much to Crest; it was the same for her. If anything had happened to Atlan-and he was the Crystal Prince of the Empire!  
Closing her eyes, she desperately prayed to the Gods. “She’huan da Arkon, protect my son!”

They had to wait for Mekron kel’Dermitron’s report. He sent a message that the TONDON had been located and did not answer any call; only the distress signal was still beeping. Then he called to say that he was putting together an inspection group and was suiting up, and that had been it.

Like a caged Kasha-Cat Crest tec’Gonozal ran up and down the Communications Centre. His wife had sat down in a vacant radio operator’s seat and had interlaced her fingers, holding on so hard that her knuckles stuck out white.

Another message came in, saying that apart from the guarding ships another ship of the Golamo had been called in by Mekron, but he himself still was not reporting.  
Waiting became torture. Crests stared at the screen with a deep frown and deliberated whether he shouldn’t call Mekron and order him, dammit, to report at last!  
Yagthara broke her silence.

“Come with me, Crest”, she said, rising. “I am no good here, and neither are you at the moment, tensed up as you are. Let us step over to the Crystal Palace. The whole matter is in good hands with Mekron, and you know that.”

“Ia te, mekhan”, he growled, sending her an ironical look, and added with a sigh:” You are right. Possibly all the security measures of the TONDON are in effect, and Mekron has trouble to board the ship.”

That was a possibility, yes. Nobody knew that ship better than did Crest tec’Gonozal.

He took his wife’s hand and turned to the personnel of Fleet High, Tervonol ta´Meleyn in the fore who was going to hold the fort, so to say, till something new came in from Persypty.

“I can be reached at my personal quarters”, Crest said shortly and got Tervonol’s acknowledgment. They left to a choir of “Ia te, mekhon!”.

At the spacious, comfortable apartment of Crest’s khasurn, the Gonozal family, its members gathered slowly, a few of the closest friends calling too. There was Merikana, Yagthara’s sister, has’athor Kenos, Atlan’s chief tutor, eventually His Eminence the Tai Moas himself with Thantan Keon-athor Tormanac, head of the Guard formations on foot and onboard.  
Tactfully the nobles of the Court, who had gotten wind of the matter, left the Imperator and his family to their privacy for now.

Only a few robots served drinks. Nobody was in the mood for eating anything. They sat in comfortable seats around the low table made of semi-transparent Quartz and conversed softly; in between silence reigned again and again.

Suddenly the vidcom chimed.

Immediately Crest was up, the others following. “Yes, I am listening!” he said shortly.

It was the radio operator of Mekron’s ship, who reported that ship to be on the approach to landing at the private spaceport of the Thek-Laktran, The Hill of the Wise where the Gos Khasurn, the Crystal Palace, rose almost a thousand meters high, its white walls glittering regally. The radio operator said further that Mekron kel’Dermitron would report in person to His Eminence and the Tai Mascant as soon as he had disembarked.

Crest shortly acknowledged, then the screen turned grey again. Confounded and dismayed the people in Crest and Yagthara’s apartment looked at each other. No word about the Crystal Prince, no report whether he was well or not-this boded ill, very ill.  
Crest had turned very pale. He had no facts yet, but he was beginning to fear the worst. Why else should Mekron be so secretive against all rules!  
His gaze met the eyes of his wife.

“Sihay-, “Yagthara said softly. It sounded like a lamenting call for help; a moment later she had tightened her self-control again and took a deep breath, leaned back in her seat, outwardly calm and collected.

Crest sat down at her side, holding her hand. No further word was uttered in the strained silence of the room.  
Cunor, Tai Moas da Arkon Gonozal homènn, Gonozal the Seventh, had clenched his teeth. His face looked frozen, though overall, he gave the impression of calmness and self-control. Still, everyone in the room could imagine how he felt and what he thought of. They knew their Imperator-and friend!-much too well.

After the death of his young wife Farnathia, he had not married again, had stayed childless, and had taken that risk to dynastic needs consciously. They had agreed to put their hopes upon the youngest brother’s son, Atlan, who showed every promise to become a very good Imperator in his own time-the best possible Tai Moas, fit to lead and guide the Tai Ark’Tussan through the bloody and deadly times of the Tai Akh’ Gor, the Great Terrible War with the methans, or rather, as it had turned out, their leading people, the Maahks.

The Gonozal family had seen very imperfectly to the continuation of the House in this generation, at least concerning the main line. Up to now, Atlan was the only child of the three brothers, and he would stay the only one. In many discussions, they had looked at that point from every possible angle. But it remained the fact that the psychological pressure this put upon the boy made him strain for success, made him excel and drive himself harder and faster than he would have done if there had been a backup, if there had been another one to take his place, to take part of the responsibility. The boy showed promise-great promise. Biologically and genetically, he had the best of groundings and prerequisites, and the same went for his education, which was tailored to him and to every step he made in his mental and psychic development. Of course, Imperator Gonozal the seventh knew that this meant that his nephew was under a lot of pressure that way. But up to now, according to the psychologists and foremost even to the personal physician of His Eminence, Yoner-Madrul Theran, this had not been to his detriment, on the contrary. Atlan was well ahead of the peers of his age, and he showed himself competent in dealing with official representation and publicity.

Yagthara his mother had seen to the necessary checks in that unstopped race and had reminded the enthusiastic scientists and military men time and again of the fact that they were not just dealing with the Gos athor of the realm, but also with an average child, and had seen to it that the pressure was balanced out and eased up if necessary.   
Merikana, her sister, as severe as she could be with the boy, had helped her with that, even going heads-on against the Imperator himself if necessary. Atlan had shaped up most well under these circumstances, and they all had felt that they were doing very well and right. But now-

Suddenly the Beeper sounded.

Elegantly a serving robot entered, smiling serenely as always, and announced Mekron kel’Dermitron. The head of the Golamo followed upon the machine’s heels.  
Mekron wore a rigid and mask-like mien, very formal. He greeted the people awaiting him with a short bow and a stiff “Mekhai, mekhoi”; then he started explaining without further preamble.

“Atlan’s alive. But we haven’t found him.”

Gasping breaths were taken all over the room. Crest put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and held her fast, very fast.

“What has happened?” the Imperator asked, unnaturally calmly.

Mekron kel’Dermitron took a deep breath. For a moment he looked to be very tired, but he collected himself again swiftly.

“Your Eminence, onboard the TONDON no-one is left alive. The entire crew, all the passengers, the soldiers, everyone has been killed. Only the Gos athor is missing. We know for sure that he left the ship alive since the lock tracker recorded that.  
Whatever happened to him further, we do not know. My people are analyzing the scant data we have found, and are looking for further clues. There are the records taken at the lock; up to now we have found no matches, but I am positive that we will- in time. The data gained is exceedingly scarce. Possibly we will not find enough to have a conclusive picture emerge-or not too soon. The TONDON's positronicon has undergone complete erasure. All that is left to us are conclusions: whoever made that possible had the codes necessary and must be part of a very exclusive group indeed, a group of people who up to now would have been above any suspicion.  
The Tondon’s security systems have been deactivated; we do not even know for sure how the whole coup was set into motion. All we have found are the corpses.”

Merikana cried out softly and pressed her hand to her mouth. “Lesena!” she whispered.

Tiredly the Golamo chief inclined his head. “Yes, mekhan”, he softly replied. “I am sorry.”

Merikana, severe and proud Merikana, wept openly.

“Report, Mekron!” Tai Moas Gonozal homénn ordered shortly. He was very pale, his eyes were burning.

“Yes, Your Eminence.” Mekron kel’ Dermitron sat down in a free seat upon the gesture of the Arkonath Imperator and threw a look over to Crest and Yagthara.  
Atlan’s parents sat unmovingly. Crest’s one arm lay around his wife’s shoulders, the other hand held hers. They listened with concentration, sitting very still, their faces stiff like masks.  
Mekron had to swallow. Then he started to report in detail.

“It’s a terrible mess upon the TONDON, pardon me, mekhai, mekhoi. I had to change my garb before I left the ship. The people of my team will bring all the data soon, including the images; I am glad that I do not have to show them right away to you.” 

He took another deep breath and continued:” We have tried to reconstruct the events. Essential findings I have with me already. Further details will be supplied later, but the principles of events we already know.   
The ship itself is intact and in good order, all machines are working. The actual attack came from inside.”

The Imperator compressed his lips till they resembled thin lines. That way the sendings of the logical sector of his brain, called the extra sense, had begun to try to explain the assault.

“We examined the bodies of the bridge’s crew very thoroughly. Their blood contained traces of a heavy neurotoxin, applied in gaseous form, and breathed in. Two of the crewmen there have been spared that; their muscles showed the residue of shocker cramps. How they escaped the initial attack by gas is unclear; logically they must have been outside the bridge at the crucial time and come back later-perhaps they noticed something and ran in time, returning to help their comrades after the jump. But their efforts were to no avail. They are dead just the same as are all their comrades, ultimately killed by needler guns. The real culprits obviously are missing. Possibly there were stowaways hidden in the ship-how they avoided detection I cannot surmise yet-men who poisoned the crewmen and changed the jump coordinates at the last moment prior to transition.   
We do not know; there are but corpses throughout the ship, some of which we even could not identify at the first moment, so mutilated we found some of the bodies. Genetic readings will have to affirm identity. But the number of the dead tallies with the count of crew and passengers known to us.”

Mekron kel’Dermitron grimaced.

“Preliminary analysis tells us that the assault started with the bridge crew being poisoned and made unconscious within moments. The second shot went at the Silvers down near the locks; suffocating poison gas coming out of the ventilation killed them almost as swiftly. We found the remnants of the capsule-it must have been built into the duct prior to the flight and had not been noticed-meaning the security systems were manipulated before the TONDON took off. That fact puts the instigators and real culprits right here at Arkon.”

The Golamo chief set his teeth for a moment so hard his cheekbones stood out. 

“Inexcusable, that”, he whispered. “The clearance necessary to let such manipulations happen unnoticed must be as high as my own, as high as yours, mekhon Tai Mascant. Our murderer and traitor logically is to be found among a group of fewer than five hundred people, all of which are absolutely above any suspicion, and cannot-cannot have instigated such an attack. For the moment I must admit that I am at a loss. We are speaking about the Arkonath government and the heads of the military and the Services!”

“Gods”, Imperator Gonozal the Seventh murmured, sightlessly staring ahead. The question of “who” found no answer in his mind either. All of this was inconceivable!  
The Golamo chief went on after taking another deep breath.

“Whether this happened before or after the TONDON took a jump to an unexpected destination we do not know.   
The guarding ships were elegantly lost, and the attacker’s ship must have been lurking near. Yet we have found no traces of forced entry, and the lock tracers have recorded people leaving while none were entering. The logical conclusion is that a transmitter was concealed aboard and started working the moment the TONDON re-entered standard space. The intruders must have numbered about fifty or more; we do not know exactly, because it seems probable that not all of them left the ship via the locks, but used the transmitter to leave as well. Any readings taken as to a transmitter’s hyperactivity are, of course, erased from the positronicon's data storage.”

A soft sigh escaped Mekron's throat.

“The crewmen as yet unharmed must have inquired and tried to fight back, of course. But it seems it happened all very quickly. Incendiary bombs were fired into the engine room and other chambers; no-one was suited up or had had time to do so. The men and women of the crew burned to death alive or were suffocated by the smoke.  
The attackers, on the contrary, must have come in heavily suited and wearing shields. Not a single trace exists of a burned-out suit, for example. The many organic traces left will naturally be analyzed, but I doubt that any genetic test will reveal a signature not belonging to the Tondon’s original crew. This assault was planned thoroughly and most well.”

Mekron kel’Dermitron grimaced again.

“Even tharg’athor Kelta Sel’Kamér was helpless. We found him lying in front of the Gos athor’s cabin-he must have fought to his last breath. But without a suit and only a Luccot he had no chance against heavily suited and shielded men attacking.”

The Golamo chief looked down at the floor for a moment and then looked up again, met the Imperator’s burning gaze.

“Your Eminence-no matter that we cannot conceive of any of the men and women who have accesses necessary for accomplishing this being traitors-we must start investigations in the highest circles of government and the military right away. Not even I am exempt, nor my closest staff, or anyone at Fleet High. Families of the concerned ones, their ties to friends or relatives who could have gotten access where, and how? And, overall-the motive?   
For this is more than just a successful abduction of the Gos athor da Arkon. It is an assault at the Imperial Family and you, Your Eminence, and the whole Tai Ark’ Tussan!”

He faced everyone in the room in turn, and everyone acknowledged and agreed by turning their wrists. None present here were exempt from that necessity of investigation.   
Mascant Tormanac’s eyes watered with excitement, the same as did the eyes of the Imperator himself. Those events were an unparalleled catastrophe, especially now in this phase of the war!  
There were the contingents of fleet and army, of the non-Arkonath peoples of the Tai Ark’ Tussan, defending and the Maahkath fleets relentlessly attacking, going after planets and stations and whole systems, no-one safe, no-one exempt from tragedy and death. Even the criminal organizations like the Sentenza or the fools of the Ark’Alor, or downright villains like the men of the She Zarakh, the Black Star, had seen and experienced that truth and had begun to lie low. But in between all of that another unknown group of conspirators was now operating and going after unknown goals. It must be following an unknown leader of apparently highest birth and status, a man –or woman-they possibly all knew, and who must be completely ruthless and totally out of his or her mind to instigate and execute such action at such a time and in such a situation as the Tai Ark’ Tussan was in right now! For one thing, it seemed to be certain too if all the data they had gotten up to now was right: that person must be Arkonath and be born of a Thi Khasurn, one of the highest-ranking and most noble families of the Empire!

“The whole of the Thek-Laktran is under suspicion,” the Imperator said heavily, wearily leaning forward and hiding his face in his hands for a moment.   
“And all of our families and our closest friends.-On top of the catastrophe we face, having lost our people on board of the TONDON, knowing our Gos athor to be in the hands of unknown and perfectly ruthless murderers, we also are confronted with the fact that we cannot trust each other, that one of us, presumably a person living or working in the Gos Khasurn, is one of the worst traitors in all of Arkonath history. That fact is fully capable of paralyzing and disabling the whole government of the Tai Ark’Tussan-not to speak of Fleet Operations or High Command. Gods. Oh, Gods-Zhymelesa help us all!”

Hiding his face again in the proper pose of praying to the Goddess who was Protector and Saviour for those who walked in Dark Places he murmured a few words of desperate entreaty. No-one but the Gods could help them now in truth!

“The Gods help those who help themselves!” Merikana said grimly. Her face was still wet with tears, but her mien showed cold determination. “This means that all of us but one are trustworthy. Together we all, men and women of the government and the military and the Tai Than, must look and search for that traitor-and with all our efforts combined, we will find him or her swiftly!”

With a sigh, Tai Moas Cunor da Gonozal closed his eyes and opened them again, and looked over at his brother.

Crest tec’Gonozal kept his feelings in check masterly. Calmly and firmly, he gazed back at his elder brother, with an icy-cold glitter in his eyes that told unmistakeably what he would do with the assassin when-not if!-he got him or her in his hands.

“Merikana is right, Your Eminence”, he said in an even tone. “We must turn the efforts of our counter-intelligence solely to the purpose of solving this puzzle now. My logic sector tells me that however high-born and of whatever high a state this murderer is, he or she cannot have a single accomplice among his or her peers-and the traitor will get neither support nor mercy from anyone. That traitor stands alone! It is in the highest interest of anyone among all the suspects to find that traitor and clear himself and his family. This matter will brush aside any intrigue or conflict among even the noblest ones of us all, the Eldrith houses.”

Agreeing the Imperator of Arkon turned his wrist.

“Ia te, mekhon”, Mekron kel’Dermitron acknowledged. It would be his duty to send out the men and women of the Golamo and of the Tu-ra-cel and deploy them.

“As well I will put together a fleet to do the searching and draw up their plans.”

Crest took a deep breath. For a moment the mask of his face broke and let them all see the strain the Tai Mascant was under and the deep pain in his heart.

“I must bury myself in work or I’ll break-“ His voice shook slightly.

Yagthara held on to her husband’s hand, squeezed it, hard. She leaned carefully against his shoulder, but even now she said not a word.  
Mekron kel’Dermitron turned a little and faced her squarely. His gaze met hers, held it.

“Mekhan-your son, our Gos athor, held his own most bravely. You-and we all-have every reason to be very, very proud of him. We have found traces and proof that he tried to fight back, that he even escaped his captors for a time. He has not been taken helplessly and tamely; he was just up against odds too high and without support.   
But we can trust him to only wait for his next chance. He will make trouble for his captors and might find ways to give signals and send messages, and they cannot kill him, or even hurt him while they plan to play the hostage game with him as the Garrabo counter. And that this is the game they play has become abundantly clear by their actions.”

Atlan’s mother swallowed and inclined her head. Her eyes searched the Golamo chief’s stiff face.

“I appreciate your try to reassure me, Mekron”, she softly retorted. “But I see that there is much more to tell- a lot which you have kept unmentioned up to now. Tell us the details you know, please-the truth cannot be worse than what our imagination will show us in our pain and fear. You know that we will learn everything later! If you tell us now, we at least will not conjecture pictures of events in our minds that never happened.”

Inclining his head, the Golamo chief reluctantly turned his wrist.

“Ia te, mekhan”, he murmured. Evading the burning look of Crest tec’Gonozal and even the glittering light-red gaze of his Imperator Mekron kel’Dermitron continued with his report in more detail now. His face had become quite expressionless.

“Whoever has planned and executed this abduction of our Gos athor has done his best to show us his intransigence and ruthlessness.”

He paused shortly and took a deep breath, went on, his eyes sightlessly staring into nothing. For sure, he saw the pictures of what he had witnessed upon the Tondon before his inner gaze now.

“The murderers have not simply poisoned and shot their victims. As I said before, the technical crew was attacked by incendiary bombs and in part burned alive; tharg-athor Kelta sel’Kamér was killed with a vibro-knife, his body cut up everywhere-we have counted sixteen deep wounds inflicted. His excellency da Pert was strangled for minutes before his neck was broken, and the lady Lesena-“

Now Mekron kel’Dermitron did look aside, into Merikana da Agh-Hay Boor’s face.

“She was killed by a sonic grenade, her body ripped apart a hundred times”, he said hoarsely.

“As the chief of the Golamo I have heard and seen much over the years, even worse things. But what was done on board the Tondon still is something most terrible and infinitely cruel, a tableau of terror arranged for the benefit of our utter devastation, an almost artistic demonstration of savage brutality. Even I must admit to feeling horrified.”

Merikana’s eyes were opened wide, shimmering dark red with horror and pain. Lesena, her friend from youth, murdered with a sonic grenade-

“She Huan Arkonath”, she whispered, tears running down her face again. “And she was with child…”

Tai Moas Cunor da Gonozal lowered his head, closing his eyes in grief for a moment. They knew and knew the proposed name of Lesena’s daughter, Merikana Getray-Atlan had been jubilant, saying that as Lesena was his second mother Getray would be kind of his little sister, imagining how he would play with her and show her the world as Lesena had shown it to him. Now that dream was ripped asunder too, literally, as was the tiny body of the infant within the womb of her mother.

“Everything went too swiftly for anybody being able to fight back, or even sound an alarm,” Mekron continued softly into the laden silence, only broken by Merikana’s low sobs.

“The eminent Gos athor was grabbed right at the beginning and drawn aside-“

“Atlan witnessed all of that?” Yagthara cried out, her desperate calmness and self-containment shattered at last.

“Yes, mekhan, he saw it all, we know it-within the Crystal Prince’s suite there are special security and tracking means installed, as you know, and the infrared sensors, functioning and recording autarkically, have not been disabled-on purpose, as I believe. They show but outlines. A murderer cannot be identified by only an outline.”

“Has the Gos athor been hurt?” Has athor Kenos interrupted. Atlan’s chief tutor had kept exceptionally calm up to now, having managed to keep himself in balance with the help of Dagor, as he had taught it to his young pupil also. But now he could keep quiet no longer. Gods, She huan, what a crime, all these murders! But his greatest fear was for his young protégé.

“No, mekhon”, Mekron kel’ Dermitron replied. “He was held with force, but not hurt-he is too important as a hostage, I believe.”

He took another deep breath.

“But he was witness to deeds that do not happen even amongst the cruelest criminals and saw too much blood-far too much even for any adult. The attendant, for example, who threw himself in between the Gos athor and the attackers was sliced open with a vibro-knife, stomach and throat-by the marks upon floor and walls, we know that his blood drenched Atlan’s clothing too, as did Lesena’s and Kelta’s. When they left the scene, he fell over the bodyguard’s body, the tracks and bloody fingerprints prove that, grabbed Kelta’s Luccot and made a dash for safety and freedom, and ran from the murderers-he managed to play hide-and-seek throughout the ship for almost a tonta with the attackers before they caught him again, in the maintenance tunnels. He must have seen the corpses of the Silvers and saw the bridge crew killed-mekhan, I am so sorry…” Full of regret and compassion the Golamo chief looked at Yagthara, who had hidden her face against her husband’s shoulder and was sobbing desperately.

They were all horrified beyond measure. Soulless beasts, these murderers, worse than Maahks-how could anyone act like this? And the Gos athor da Arkon, not even twelve years old yet, had had to watch and see all of this-

“Our boy will not bend or break beneath even this, Yaghay, he will be able to deal with his experiences and learn to live with them, we will all help him to overcome these horrors. You will see, he will come back to us unharmed and will be well and happy again-“ Crest said softly and intently, stroking his wife’s hair and holding her as fast as he could.  
Yagthara looked up at him.

“Oh, Cres’ya,” she whispered. “If they did all that and did not hesitate, what will he see them do now and later? In which frame of body and mind, and heart, will he be when we see him again?”

No-one answered her desperate question, and nobody dared to say out loud what they, involuntarily, all thought of: “If we see him again…”


End file.
